“I mean, because he wants petting. If you had seen at what a pace he came—like the wind!”
“I should think so—a horse that cost 5,000 francs!” said Monte Cristo, in the tone which a father would use towards a son.
“Do you regret them?” asked Morrel, with his open laugh.
“I? Certainly not,” replied the count. “No; I should only regret if the horse had not proved good.”
“It is so good, that I have distanced M. de Château-Renaud, one of the best riders in France, and M. Debray, who both mount the minister’s Arabians; and close on their heels are the horses of Madame Danglars, who always go at six leagues an hour.”
“Then they follow you?” asked Monte Cristo.
“See, they are here.” And at the same minute a carriage with smoking horses, accompanied by two mounted gentlemen, arrived at the gate, which opened before them. The carriage drove